


housewife radio

by boa_bec



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: ((this is my first work on ao3!!!)), Based on a Vocaloid Song, Character Death, Hallucinations, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Period-Typical Sexism, Psychosis, Trans Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Yandere Angel, angel has a husband but he doesnt have a name bc he isn’t important, housewife radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boa_bec/pseuds/boa_bec
Summary: ah,his voice,it speaks to me through the radio.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	housewife radio

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! soooo i write a lot, especially for hazbin, but i never actually post my writing bc im really nervous about it. this is the first time ive shared my writing in a while, so constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> angel is 18/19 in this fic. i’m not actually sure if it was common to be married that young, but since it takes place in the 30’s i kinda struggled to figure out how their ages would work.

As much as he liked pretending otherwise, Angel had zero control over his own life. He was too soft, too feminine, too weak; and it had been that way his entire life. That wasn’t to say he disliked being feminine, of course, but when everyone saw you as a fragile little lady, it became a problem. Angel’s father had laughed at the prospect of his daughter being useful in any way, and by the age of eighteen he was married to some schmuck he truly didn’t care for at all. Nothing was the way he wanted it to be, and he was helpless to change it. All Angel wanted was freedom, a bit of control over things.

That was how it started. A craving for freedom, just a taste of it. While Angel’s husband spent all day at work, he was confined to the life of a subservient housewife, cooking and cleaning and mending clothes for hours on end. Stitch, sew, cut, pull. Stitch, sew, cut and pull.

He liked to listen to the radio while he worked - a bit of background noise was always nice, after all. And it was on that winter morning, after Angel’s husband left for work, that he tuned into Channel 17-6; it was on that morning at 7 o’clock sharp that he heard that voice for the very first time.

“Good morning, my dear listeners! Today you’re listening to your pal Al once again - and what a beautiful day it is, yessir!”

Hearing that voice, Angel’s body felt…lighter. In a trance, almost dreamlike, he pressed the patterned fabric to the ironing board, and steam filled his vision as the heat smoothed out the creases. Alastor’s voice was captivating, soothing, almost familiar somehow. Even listening to him list off the weather forecast for the week made Angel’s heart beat even faster, warmth spreading from his face to his ears. It confused him, such a strange reaction - this man was a total stranger, wasn’t he? And yet…he could listen to that voice all day long…

And so he did. Every day at 7 o’clock sharp, Angel turned on the radio just in time to hear Alastor’s voice. It was strange, definitely; Angel didn’t know anything about this man, not what he looked like, where he was from, or anything of the sort. All he knew was his voice and his name. And yet, there was a connection, however one-sided - perhaps obsession was a better word for it. Alastor started to obscure Angel’s every thought, pushing it all aside in favor of just him, him and nobody else. How odd that Angel cared for this man more than his own husband.

And one morning, Alastor’s voice was no more. Gone, just like that. A hunting accident, they said. He’d been mistaken for a deer and shot, right between the eyes. When the news reached Angel, something inside him broke. Like the way a rubber band would snap under too much pressure. Such an intense obsession with another person - especially one who didn’t even know Angel, let alone love him back - was terribly unhealthy, he’d known from the start, but that only made the sting of loss more painful. It was agony - and it drove Angel insane.

His husband would yell and throw things, force Angel to throw the radio away. If he couldn’t listen to the radio, he’d have to find some other way to entertain himself - something that didn’t remind him of Alastor. But it didn’t work; no matter how many times Angel got rid of that stupid fucking radio, if would appear right back on the table, shiny and good as new. The songs it played would glitch and falter, Alastor’s voice muffled and faraway, as if none of it was real. 

(Maybe none of it was real. Maybe Angel hoped none of it was real.)

When Angel’s husband said he didn’t hear a thing, Angel knew he was going insane - or perhaps any semblance of sanity had been lost long ago. It was Alastor’s fault for making a mess of him, wasn’t it? With that charming voice and beautiful laugh, Angel had become dependent on him like a drug. And what was he going to do now? He didn’t know - he didn’t know much of anything these days. All he knew was the radio, listening to it day and night.

(Ah, his voice, it speaks to me through the radio.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Voice in the Radio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592421) by [IHearttheHitachiinTwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHearttheHitachiinTwins/pseuds/IHearttheHitachiinTwins)




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